help thinking that I had been vastly more taken with the oddities and eccentricities of the devout old fisherman, than with the practice of his art in these unromantic regions, and inwardly assented to Swift's definition of angling—“a stick and a string, with a fool at one end and a worm at the other.” Ever since that day, I have been pointed at as the man that fished by the book, much to the gratification of my rustic neighbors, and mortification of myself. ISRAFEL.[1] BY E. A. POE. [Footnote 1: And the angel Israfel who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.—_Koran._] In Heaven a spirit doth dwell Whose heart-strings are a lute: None sing so wild—so well As the angel Israfel— And the giddy stars are mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, The enamored moon Blushes with love— While, to listen, the red levin Pauses in Heaven. And they say (the starry choir And all the listening things) That Israfeli's fire Is owing to that lyre With those unusual strings. But the Heavens that angel trod Where deep thoughts are a duty— Where Love is a grown god— Where Houri glances are Imbued with all the beauty Which we worship in a star. Thou art not, therefore, wrong Israfeli, who despisest An unimpassion'd song: To thee the laurels belong Best bard—because the wisest. The extacies above With thy burning measures suit— Thy grief—if any—thy love With the fervor of thy lute— Well may the stars be mute! Yes, Heaven is thine: but this Is a world of sweets and sours: Our flowers are merely—flowers, And the shadow of thy bliss Is the sunshine of ours. If I did dwell where Israfel Hath dwelt, and he where I, He would not sing one half as well— One half as passionately— And a loftier note than this would swell From my lyre within the sky. JUDGMENT OF RHADAMANTHUS. BY JAMES K. PAULDING. One day, Rhadamanthus, the stern and wise judge of the dead, sat in the shades, passing sentence on the crimes, follies, and virtues of the human race, that flocked in myriads to his awful tribunal. On his right hand extended a delicious region, fragrant with flowers of unnumbered tints and odors, musical with the song of myriads of happy birds, and glowing in glories brighter than sunbeams, for they were reflected from the smiling face of an approving deity. On his left lay the kingdom of darkness and despair, where though nothing could be seen, the wretchedness of its tenants was sadly indicated by groans and howlings of suffering and despair, which might aptly represent the universal chorus of human misery. To the former, Rhadamanthus beckoned the good with a benignant and approving smile—to the latter, he condemned the wicked with a withering frown.